Julian Summerhayes

Now, more than ever, we need to find a way through this collapsing world . Yes, there are lots of strategies, templates and exhortation we could employ but, truthfully, we know in our hearts that if only there was a little less hate and a lot more kindness the world would be a much better place - in so many ways. Then again, the trope has been done to death and look where it's got us. Not very far. Perhaps it is that we've an aversion to opening ourselves up in case we're taken advantage of or worse still.  Perhaps it is that we don't feel it. It's more act than truth. Perhaps there's no quid pro quo. (Does there or should there be?) Truth is, I've no more an idea than you why the world is too often riven with a lust for hate when it should be in swoon to kindness. That doesn't (of course) stop me wondering. And wonder I will alongside all those other issues that continue to haunt me. Blessings, Julian 

At the moment, I'm deep into capitalism, having finished David Whyte's thought-provoking book, Ecocide: Kill The Company Before It Kills Us . If I'm honest, I'm not sure what I'm going to discover that I don't already know. That said, I'm not suggesting I know very much about (inter alia) Natural Capital, Green Swans or neoliberalism, but you don't need to be Einstein to work out that capitalism has been one of, if not the main enabler for the Anthropocene . Oh, that, and our insatiable, wanton desire for more stuff.  Yes, that's right. Absent us, there wouldn't exist the corporate vehicle, less still greedy capitalists (I say that, of course, only mildly tongue-in-cheek.) As I've said so many times: we need the world; the world doesn't need us . And where does all this fit with the latest UK-wide CV19 restrictions and the catastrophic situation we find ourselves living in and through? Again, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is that we were n

“The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.” ― Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain Good morning from a quiet and very dark Devon. The coffee is poured, there's quiet, almost sleep-inducing music on in the background , and I'm here again at my computer musing on life. I've written before about limits, having been inspired by Stephen Jenkinson's work . Yes, the same person who has written so eloquently about death, elderhood and especially limits. You know the kind: life death the earth relationships our abilities in fact so much of what we take for granted or expect.  But we don't covet limits. Quite the contrary. Instead ― and yes it's a generalisation too bloody far (as ever, Summerhayes) ― we're obsessed with the trope that says you can and MUST

Over the weekend, I spent time reading Ecocide: Kill The Corporation Before It Kills Us by David Whyte .  I'll be honest, it made me feel sick to my stomach given: a) our unholy fascination with the corporate vehicle; and b) the damage it's wrought and continues to do so, unabated.  Think about it. We talk about climate change, environmental degradation and sustainability but, save for regulation that might kill off the capitalist ideal - it's never going to happen on my watch - it's the company that's responsible for all the egregious harm to mother earth and her people.  I've not yet finished the book but I do know from a video that I watched to launch the book that towards the end there is a manifesto of sorts, and I'll be interested to see what David Whyte says about systemic change or rather what comes next if we don't want to see the very ground of our divination wiped away in the next 100 years (it could be less; and if you want to know more, I hi

 ..before. Nothing new. Nothing to say. Lots to do, but what? What would make a difference? Plant some trees, collect plastic from the polluted beaches, protest? Arghh! How about: be prepared to stop  (HT to Stephen Jenkinson )?  By hook or by crook, to stop doing what we're doing for fear of or the near certainty that we'll annihilate everything, everybody and all of nature in our pursuit of growth. It's all so depressing, right? I mean, here we are in the midst of a pandemic and if that doesn't make us realise and appreciate the fragility of the human race then nothing will. Nothing. Does this mean I'm misanthropic? It would be easy to think that but, as the old saw goes, it's us, the humans, who got us into this mess, and it's only us who can...[fill in the blank]. The truth is - always mine and mine alone - I've little faith that for all the good words and deeds we'll ever see the light and only at the time when things are bad, real bad, will we

When we want to, we can achieve great things. I mean life-changing things – for us and others. Of course, we're not superhuman or robots and it's understandable why we're not always inclined or inspired to act this way. In fact, just as often we'd rather live a nice quiet life. Don't ask me why – perhaps it's my continued rumination on death and dying – but at the moment I'm drawn to consider those people who have done great things in the arts or otherwise but have died young. I was going to say well before their time, but as someone bordering on the edge of fatalism, when our time's up, our time is up! I'm not suggesting we lose ourselves under the staggering weight of expectation but I do think it worth allowing the thought to hang in the air when we achieved our greatest things and invite the question: "Why or how?" Anyhow, back to the coalface. Have a good one. Blessings, Julian

Right now, one day feels much like the one before. Hell, even the weekends have bled into the week, and it's a wonder I can remember what day it is. And if this Covid19 thing has its continued way, I don't see this mesmerising routine letting up anytime soon. But I digress. Life . 'WOW' and 'Meh!' in equal measure. And it goes by at such a pace that before you know where you are, you wonder where the hell it's gone. At the time – deep in the trenches – it all feels so real, so alive but in hindsight (at least for me) it hardly registers on the life and death scale. I'll be honest, right now, there's a sense, a blessed one that I'm going through the motions. And that's not me; I'm very much of the school that likes to have a purpose or at least a settled meaning to my 'doing'. The only thing that's keeping me in the game is a sense of responsibility and not wanting to let anyone down. And that's fine – honest it is – bu

"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." — Pablo Neruda We thrash around trying to find out what makes us happy -- blissful even. Occasionally, for a fleeting moment, we're alive inside, but it never lasts. Of course, this is pure conjecture but how many of us have set out to find ourselves or rediscover something of our old self, only to find that we're chasing another chimaera? I certainly have, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. What then? Indeed, what then? More of the same, anodyne routine? Or do we simply pull up the drawbridge on connecting with true self and accept our lot? Again, that's a damn good question. The truth is -- my truth -- I've no answers, lest still a gold-plated solution. Instead, perhaps it's time we got used to a degree of ennui or at least to the extent where we celebrated what we've got, rather than wishing for some

But for how much longer...will I be doing my thing? It remains an open question. I'm lucky of course — blessed you could say.  I mean, here I am with time enough to write the odd blog and with the benefit of a full-time job. What could be better? Then again, much like that felt sense I've experienced all my life, I know that there's an unlived part of me waiting to find its place in the world. I don't just mean a better job ("Hell, no!"), or become an artist or anything in particular. No, I mean to say that there's a road less travelled that's waiting for me somewhere out in the future  — assuming I make it of course. Don't worry, it's not that I'm lost in the reverie of my new life or I constantly daydream but there remains this insatiable draw not to let the habit of today dictate what's to come.  Does this mean I'm hopeful? That's not really my thing  — i.e. trafficking in hope. There's only this day and if lived fully (a

"Why grief, fear, and despair? Certainly there are other emotions we call “negative.” Envy, guilt, shame, and anger, among others, account for a great deal of human suffering. But in my thirty years as a psychotherapist, I’ve come to believe that the inability to bear the core triad of grief, fear, and despair is the source of much of our individual and collective emotional ills." — Miriam Greenspan, Healing through the Dark Emotions  I wish we could share more of our true self.  Instead, we live in the shadows . It's conjecture I know but perhaps there's a reason; namely, dealing with repressed grief. Not just the grief that enters stage left on the passing of a loved one but all those things in our life that we've never come to terms with; and I include in that the death of mother earth and the pandemic, which I know contorts so many souls. What am I advocating for? Space, openness and a way to show all of our humanness without being torn asunder. I'll be h

  It's Friday.  The end of another week. And by my reckoning, given my date of birth, that's 2,776 weeks and 3 days since I was born. Is that a lot? It sure feels like it.  In fact, only this week did I conjure up from the abyss of my reckoning the fact that I'm officially old. Now we can debate the passing from middle age to old age but it's not the years that are important but, to me at least, a felt sense of belonging or should I say acceptance. Yes, that's it: acceptance not resignation. Did I think this time would come? Not really. As a wee kid, growing up in a small seaside town in Devon, England, all I ever wanted to do was escape. Get the hell out. I did. And I ran and ran until, well, I not so much found myself as I felt I'd put some hard yards between the old, underwhelmed me to someone slightly happier in their skin. But the trouble was I never quite escaped the need to do -- to always be on the road of 'doing'. And (sadly) I worked so hard th

  Caged Bird BY  MAYA ANGELOU A free bird leaps on the back of the wind    and floats downstream    till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and    his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings    with a fearful trill    of things unknown    but longed for still    and his tune is heard    on the distant hill    for the caged bird    sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn and he names the sky his own But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied    so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings    with a fearful trill    of things unknown    but longed for still    and his tune is heard    on the d

Life is a marvellous thing -- no, really it is -- but right now, betwixt a global pandemic and likely mass unemployment, it's hard not to get lost in a desperate wellspring of misery. "Why me?" My shtick (if I were to market myself!) wouldn't be premised on offering yet more advice, answers or even a cool sense of vulnerability to what ails you (I long ago dropped the 'coach' badge), no, instead, I'd invite us to wonder. I don't mean to daydream, although that might be in the mix. No to think about and ruminate on the notion of limits, endings, grief, sorrow and love. Especially love. Of course, this sense of "What if?" isn't going to (inter alia) pay the bills or necessarily pull you out your funk, but then again, don't you feel that what we've done previously -- if not personally then certainly collectively -- hasn't really allowed us to see a more beautiful world our hearts know is possible (see the book with the same title

 A Month of Happiness - Robert Bly A blind horse stands among cherry trees. And bones shine from cool earth.The heart leaps Almost up to the sky! But laments And filaments pull us back into the dark. Night takes us. But A paw Comes out of the dark To light the road. I'll be all right. I follow my own fiery traces through the night.

I'm going to start with sharing a few poems by my favourite poets, and then, all being well, start to share a bit of my, slightly experimental work. Thanks for stopping by. Julian

But it rarely is. Simple.  Oh sure, we simplify here, reduce there but we've still to wrestle our inner demons, even in the most blissful of locations. (That damn Monkey Mind .) Perhaps I'm wrong. It could be that when you put everything in neat rows, elide all the shit and paint a pretty picture, so your mind settles and life becomes easier. The thing is, I know what brings me joy -- spending time with my family, walking the dog, a cup of coffee, quiet music and a good book. The rest, well, it's often out of whack with how I'd like it to be and previously, drawn on mercilessly by the little voice in my head that tested the very fibre of my being, I'd be driven to order everything -- to keep up appearances if you wish (save the DIY -- not really my thing). It drove me mad. I found myself forever tidying up, judging myself by the perfect 'this' or 'that'. Why? Who really cares? It wasn't like I was hoping to sell my 'minimalist' shtick.  W

“...along with the other animals, the stones, the trees, and the clouds, we ourselves are characters within a huge story that is visibly unfolding all around us, participants within the vast imagination, or Dreaming, of the world.” ― David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World Culturally, at least in the West, we're one generation deep. Occasionally, we might reminisce about what went before, but, mostly, we're lead to believe in and brainwashed by the cultural here and now.  You know the one that exhorts (among many other malignant traits) ' be all you can be' .  But if you're prompted, you only have to walk around your local graveyard to understand that there's a little more to our cultural locus than what pops up in your social media feed or even, perhaps, the folklore that's been passed down through the family.  Of late, largely as a result of work done by my brother, I've been able to reach back in the

For the past few weeks, I've been busy with work -- real busy. In fact, I can't remember a time (certainly since lockdown) when it was like this. And that's fine. No, really. It's kept me occupied and certainly, I've not had much time to surf the web or engage in social media. (Sorry, that sounds a bit off-hand. What I mean is that I've been nicely  distracted.) I have, though, missed blogging. It's quite something -- at least to me -- to go from a daily routine to, well, nothing.  Nada. In many ways, apart from the busyness, it's also been good to regroup, to collect my thoughts and to sit with all that's been arising -- especially the grief of losing my father-in-law who was (and still remains in spirit) a big part of our lives. I don't have a mission, or strategy or plan as to how my blogging will unfold -- I've stopped posting on Livejournal and am back to Blogger (please feel free to subscribe 😀) -- but I'm hopeful that I will get b

Sometimes we get a choice, but mostly the ghosts intervene and everything, or most everything we hold dear, falls away. In my case -- not that my backstory is worth remarking on -- endings have grown in importance, not just because they've shown me the real meaning of life but because it's part of who we are; namely, to be human, grown-up and no more and no less than our circumstance. At this stage, you might be wondering where this post is headed. Nowhere, really. Previously that wasn't the case: I was all vim, vigour and hype. Of course, that too is part of being human -- i.e. a young man with great ambition or at least enough ambition to take me away from my barren, unloving and unloved life. But it wasn't me. It was a cloak to mask what was really going on. I suppose all I'm saying is that we so often look for something out on the horizon that ends up being a chimaera. And that's fine. Fine in the sense that there's nothing to do, and certainly we should

 “Experience life in all possible ways -- good-bad, bitter-sweet, dark-light, summer-winter. Experience all the dualities. Don't be afraid of experience, because the more experience you have, the more mature you become.” ― Osho Life is replete with great joy but also sadness. Sadly, in our competency-addicted culture, we think it (sadness) something to get through, to be on the other side of; and then (not for everyone) it appears  to give them bragging rights. What if instead we practised sadness or grief or brokenheartedness? I know what you're thinking. Here we go again, another faux branding exercise around the human experience. Possibly, but for me, as I look back on my life, I realise how much I've stuffed down or skimmed in the hope of never having to face myself and my demons. And it did me no good. No good I say. No, all it did it was make me weary in not understanding why all the thrashing and expectation of things working out, lead to a slightly hollowed out life

“I had drunk so deeply of grief and innocently gambled so hard with fate and irony that a special kind of vision was gathering in my eyes, not entirely clear just yet. This was the same look people saw in your eyes when you have died for beauty and come to live accepting nature as life with no promise of paradise, and mad at people who couldn't see that.” ―  Martin Prechtel,  Secrets of the Talking Jaguar Grief. Right there. I can't escape it -- now, not ever. And you? We think of it as feeling: "I lost my mother/father/friend." It sits behind everything we think and do -- for a while at least. But what if grief was something more profound? Like...? Being a faithful witness to everything that our loved one stood for and represented to us and their community. Better still, our practised grief was celebratory in its purview -- something that we forever demonstrated in our words, deeds and life. Right now, I'm wrestling with all those people who I once knew and those

  Death -- our death -- should inform our lives, but it rarely does. It all comes too late. But imagine it: being told the precise day you'd leave this world. Would it change the way you saw your life and lived it? Who knows?  Right now, gripped as I am by the memories of my ancestors, I feel an overwhelming sense to sit with the knowledge, the absolutely certainty that I've got limited time available to me. And that doesn't mean, as I did previously, I want to run scared. Instead, I've a celebratory feeling in and around death. That's not dark, nor morose. It's life -- all of it. And you? Do you think about the end? Perhaps not. It's too soon. But one day you and others will have to comprehend what it means to be gone.  I find that more a little sobering, but in the meantime I'll keep leaning into my mortality to explore how my life should and must change to recognise the finality of this gift we call life. Love, Julian Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

I know, it's hardly the most appealing title but that's life, right? Two sides of the same thing. And yet, what do we do? Rush forward in the hope of finding meaning in our days. We seldom do. What if, instead, we embraced death in the same way we sought to strangle life? What if? But even to posit the question appears nihilistic, practically defeatist. It's not always been like that -- I'm convinced of it. When life was short, often hanging by a thread, I'm sure we weren't seduced by (at the very least) the word voodoo that surrounds the 'D' word and so much more. What am I advocating for? Honesty, openness and, dare I say, truth. If not that, then what? Long life, quick death. That's a myth. In fact, with our medically-disposed, buy-more-time way of seeing the world, all we're doing is buying us more death. Yes, you heard me. And that's a new phenomenon and one, in my humble view, we're not equipped to deal with, lest still discuss in c

 I've been writing for a decade or more. Sadly, I don't have much to show for my efforts. Still, I'm confident with a change of emphasis -- i.e. calling myself a writer -- I can make something of what I've to offer the world. We'll see.  Ju.

  “It may be important to great thinkers to examine the world, to explain and despise it. But I think it is only important to love the world, not to despise it, not for us to hate each other, but to be able to regard the world and ourselves and all beings with love, admiration and respect.” ―  Hermann Hesse,  Siddhartha

  I'm lucky to live in Devon. I mean, really lucky. This picture says it all. The vibrant colours; the mellifluous river; and the tang of nature -- WOW. Cornwall is great but it never quite feels the same. Sure, the beaches are off the scale but it's the soul that doesn't grab me. I've not yet done my list of the things that feel impressed upon me but writ large is to fall back into a creative regime, however than unfolds.  Save that, we'll see what happens next. Love, Ju

We're nearly at the end of our holiday. It must be the 15th time we've been here.  And it's been wonderful to get away, even allowing for the fact that people appear to have forgotten the Rules on social distancing!  (I've stayed away from the Town as much as possible and instead have enjoyed quiet time in the flat -- owned by my late father-in-law, Brian.) We've booked next year for a week, and it'll be nice to keep the family tradition fully alive.  Previously, and certainly by now, I'd have made some grand statement about all the things that I intend doing on my return home to Devon but this time there's been nothing of the sort save that I do want to start open-water swimming -- something I've never properly done. I will have to buy a wetsuit but for now, given the sea and river temperatures, I'll either manage with an old short-sleeved wetsuit or just my swimming trunks. One thing that will live on in my memory is the fact that our children

Perhaps it's me, but I don't understand the fascination with mobile phones.  What do I mean? I mean, why does everyone live in their phones and not pay attention to what's happening? Perhaps I'm being too judgmental but then again, I wonder what we're missing in the process?